Mating Rituals
by The Lady Elrond
Summary: 'Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, starts so soft and sweet and turns them into hunters...' Frollo/Esmeralda. Disney based.


**Mating Rituals **

_'A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night  
>May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright...'<em>

Like a she-wolf in human form, she runs on feet which are as naked as the rest of her body, stark and fiercely beautiful in the shadowy realm of the forest. Her hair, dark and unruly, streams in her wake like a banner of victory caught high in the wind.

Esmeralda's heart flutters in her chest like the wings of a small bird trapped behind her ribcage. Blood hums at her temples, steadily rising into a deafening roar which seems to swirl in her eardrums. A voice cries out in the distance, hoarse with primitive desire and yearning, and she quickens her pace, taut muscles rippling visibly beneath brown skin. Her pursuer - _her mate_- calls out again, and this time she answers with a throaty laugh and throws back her head to howl at the sky above in savage ecstasy.

She skids to a sudden halt, disarmed by the quiet splendour of the clearing in which she suddenly finds herself. The trees rise up like peaceful giants, reaching up to brush the blue canopy above with twisted, willowy fingers. At their roots, a seemingly endless sea of flowers undulates gently in the breeze, sending waves of autumnal colour into the air. Breathless and increasingly aware of her aching limbs, she sinks into the welcoming softness of the forest floor.

Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows of a nearby thicket, Claude Frollo pauses for a moment, his head cocked to the side in the manner of a predatory bird – he listens intently to the sounds of the forest around him, waiting for the gypsy's next movement to give her away. His pewter-coloured eyes blaze with violent shades of uncertainty for a brief moment, only to be replaced with a ravenous gleam as he turns a corner and catches a glimpse of his quarry.

There she is, sprawled and spread-eagled upon a pallet of daises like some forgotten pagan deity.

_Esmeralda..._

Seemingly unaware that her husband is watching, Esmeralda arches her back and sighs, a hand moving with slow deliberation between bronzed thighs. A gentle gust of wind sends her hair fluttering across her torso in thick tendrils - it veils the tender swell of her bosom like an ebony waterfall and Claude clutches at himself spasmodically, suddenly dry-mouthed and dizzy in the presence of such sensual perfection. Even after all this time, his thirst for her is unquenchable.

_Can there be any doubt that the invisible children of the fairy court are weaving their magic here, intent upon taking this mortal goddess for their own? _

Claude prowls the edge of the clearing, his eyes flickering over the nubile form of his prey as he moves ever closer. His nostrils flare, picking up the unmistakable scent of her arousal, and his manhood begins to throb against the base of his stomach with primal excitement. Free from the restrictions of his judicial robes and many duties he feels alive, like a dog on the trail of a receptive female.

_A bitch in heat..._

He stalks her, his footsteps masked by the constant murmur of the forest around them as she writhes and moans on the mossy heath, oblivious to anything but her own gratification. She bucks wildly, grinding against the cupped palm of her own hand, and cries his name over and over again in a breathless mantra of bliss.

_"Claude!"_

The sound of his wife's voice, low and husky with longing, sends a sudden frisson of pleasure through the Minister – in this moment, the force of his love for her is almost painful in its intensity and he does not resist when his knees suddenly buckle in mid-step, sending him sprawling to the ground at her side.

The sudden commotion rouses Esmeralda from her languid reverie and she snarls in outrage as her assailant reaches down to run his fingers through the nest of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. With a wolfish grin, he straddles the gypsy's girl's lower body, ignoring the gleam of her white teeth as they snap together scarcely an inch from the tip of his nose – her fury is well-acted and, as she glowers up at him with eyes as green and venomous as ivy, Claude is certain that here, naked and struggling beneath him, is the embodiment of Mother Nature in all her terrible splendour.

_Red in tooth and claw... _

Esmeralda's thrashing is becoming increasingly violent. She manages to free one of her arms from his grasp and lashes out blindly, her fist connecting with the corner of his jaw. Claude exhales sharply, surprised by the sudden contact, but quickly regains his composure and, after a brief moment of introspection, sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of her shoulder. She gasps and stiffens as he pulls away, her eyes bright with fresh hatred. He growls an incoherent warning into the curve of her neck and presses his lips to the bloody indentation, smiling as her hips rise up to meet his pelvis in response.

A powerful frisson of desire shakes the gypsy girl to the very core - she shudders helplessly in its aftermath, her insides seemingly liquefied by a bolt of white-hot lightning deep within. Claude's teeth graze against her clavicle; his hands, firm and gentle, are full with the pliant softness of her breasts, the dusky nipples blossoming like diminutive rosebuds at his touch.

Esmeralda's eyes, glistening with sweet tears, roll in the sockets as her opponent lowers his silvery head to the swell of her bosom, tongue following the invisible trail left by his fingers. Claude glances up, silently daring her to challenge his authority, and her red lips contract into a snarling mockery of a smile as she tries to regain her composure. After a moment, he returns to the task at hand and gently tugs at a nipple with his teeth. He grunts with mild displeasure as the young woman renews her previous efforts to escape him – however, her resistance is decidedly half-hearted and she cannot hope to disguise the dampness pooling between her thighs.

Suddenly, Claude pulls away and, without waiting for a response to his command, proceeds to roll Esmeralda onto her front, ignoring her indignant yelps and barked threats. He falls back onto his haunches, waiting patiently as she composes herself, before eventually reaching out to give her an encouraging tap on the backside. Instinct replaces uncertainty and she rises onto all-fours, presenting herself to him in an inviting position. A low growl rumbles in his throat at the sight of her pudenda, swollen and coral-red, peeking out at him from between her thighs.

She pushes against him with a plaintive whine, shoulders quivering with anticipation, and moulds her torso to the ground. Beneath her, the pulse of the forest seems to flow from beneath the earth, coursing through her flesh to meld with the nervous flickering of her own heart. Claude grabs at her hips, pulling her back onto the marble column of his cock in one fluid motion. Jolted from her daydreams of paradise she gasps and wriggles, unprepared for the sudden pleasure of penetration, and, with a muttered curse, he slips out of her, his leaking member jarred upwards by the unexpected shift of her lower body. She freezes beneath him, limbs tremulous with fatigue as, having realigned himself with the slick opening of her cunt, Claude reaches forward to yank her head back, plunging his fingers deep into the unrivalled glory of her raven tresses.

The crisp air seems to crackle as he prepares to mount her from behind and positions himself over her, pressing his face into against the small of her back. Esmeralda smirks, pondering how strange it is that the Minister's natural articulacy, a weapon he usually wields with such skill and confidence, appears to slip from his grasp in such intimate moments.

_Bitch_ is the only word she can make out in an otherwise unintelligible stream of abuse and accolades and he repeats it over and over again, teeth grazing against the firmness of her backside. An acidic response burns on the tip of the gypsy girl's tongue but she thinks better of it and bites her lip instead as he begins to slide into her, slowly, inch by torturous inch. His fingertips sink into the rich expanse of flesh around her hips as she tries to rock back onto him, pawing at the earth like an impatient mare.

Soon Claude is buried to the hilt, balls-deep in his beautiful bride, and their delight in one another resounds through the forest, drowning out the mating cries of bird and beast alike. Esmeralda whimpers out in ecstasy as he flicks his pelvis against her, testing the depth of penetration with a series of shallow thrusts. Spreading her limbs in order to take his weight, she lowers herself onto his twitching manhood, taking him deeper into the moist heat of her tight slit. He groans and sinks his teeth into her shoulder.

Esmeralda yowls like a knotted vixen as she comes, her inner muscles contracting around his shaft in a paroxysm of mingled pleasure and pain. The sound of her arousal only serves to feed Claude's rampant imagination and, with eyes closed and mouth open, he runs his hands over his wife's stomach and breasts. His tongue lingers at the corner of his lips and imagines her brown skin stretching and swelling, rippling beneath his touch as life begins to blossom within and then...oh! He gives a great shout of joyful laughter, picturing a litter of half-feral toddlers squabbling over her teats as she smiles down at them proudly...

_Their cubs..._

Heart racing, he surges into her, wanting nothing more than tofill her to the brim with his essence. He wants to mark her as his own, to fuck her so many times that she smells of him...then they will know, oh yes! All those other dogs, the ones who sniff around her with covetous, hungry eyes...they will know that she belongs to him and he will not hesitate to rip out their throats if they venture too close!

Claude bares his teeth at the thought and throws a possessive arm around Esmeralda's midriff. The muscles in her arms strain slightly as he begins to thrust into her velvety depths with renewed vigour, his balls swinging forward to bash against the tingling bud of her clitoris. Shooting stars streak across the insides of her eyelids before exploding into bright colours and melting away - her loins are dissolving with each orgasmic rush, leaving her palpitating, panting and pleading for more, always_ more_...

The Minister is sweating profusely, his groin tight with the sheer effort of trying to control himself. Esmeralda's sweet juices drench his cock in an almost continuous stream of sticky liquid and with every damp burst, with each breathless sigh, she is sending him closer to the edge. He can almost feel himself falling...it is as though the only thing keeping him in this earthly realm is the joining of their flesh, the vice-like grip of her womanhood around his member...  
><em><br>"Claude!" _

She cries out and, before either of them realise what is about to happen, he is undone, erupting into her with the virility of a suddenly active volcano. His entire body stiffens, his fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders and, with a ragged, rattling howl of triumph, he collapses onto her back.

Esmeralda's limbs buckle beneath his weight and she sprawls forward, the impact of the ground driving the excess air from her lungs in a grunting breath. Despite this, Claude makes no attempt to rise, ribs heaving with each laboured gasp as he reaches down to tangle his hands in the thickness of her hair. She mewls softly and clenches around his member, trying to hold him inside her, but he gradually shrinks and slips away, leaving her feeling strangely empty and almost bereft.

After an eternity, he shifts and eases himself to the ground, gently rolling Esmeralda into the warmth and security of his embrace. She sighs and buries her face into the dampness of his chest, lulled by the rhythm of his heartbeat against her cheek. All around them, a sweet cacophony of nature – birdsong and the rustle of leaves. It is as though the entire forest whispers about what has transpired in the little clearing, about this rebirth of Adam and Eve, bare-skinned and entwined on their humble bed of foliage and wild flowers. Claude's breath is hot against her ear and she shudders, the fine dusting of hair at the nape of her neck prickling as he presses his mouth to the exposed hollow of her throat and _sucks. _

A little while later, when they are basking once again in the aftermath of _la petit morte_, Esmeralda turns to her husband with a wicked glint in her eyes and thanks him for a wonderful afternoon.  
><em><br>"Believe me, my love, the pleasure was all mine." _Claude's reply is laced with innuendo and she pulls a face, sticking out her tongue as he chuckles and reaches for her breasts.

_"Hmm...I think that's the problem, don't you?"_

Bemused by this turn in the conversation, he arches an eyebrow at her in silent question, _"Whatever are you talking about?" _  
><em><br>"Well, some wolf-packs don't have a alpha male, you know," _she explains, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

_"Oh really?"_

The expression on the Minister's face is half-way between amusement and exasperation but he cannot help but grin as she straddles him, squeezing his sharp hips with her firm, brown thighs.

_"Oh yes...sometimes there is a dominant female instead. She leads the pack and makes all the important decisions herself...she has the last say on hunting and territories and..."_

_"And mating, I presume?"_

_"Of course,"_ Esmeralda nods gravely. Her raven curls bounce over Claude, tickling his collarbone and the hollow of his throat. He clears his throat and tries to brush the stray tendrils back behind her ears.

_"And your point is?" _

She laughs at his confusion and leans forward until her lips are almost touching the tip of his nose. Claude wriggles beneath her, his intentions uncertain, but she is steadfast and strong and, deep down, he doesn't want to escape. She blesses him with her red mouth, just like on that fateful January day when they first crossed paths...only this time she stays.

This time, Esmeralda laughs and reaches down to touch him, to kiss and hold and love him...to make him feel, _truly_ feel, in ways he never thought he could.  
><strong><br>**_"Put it this way, my dear Minister...next time we do something like this, I ensure you that the pleasure will be all mine."_

**a/n I wrote this for the Fresme community over on LiveJournal. It is set during the time-line of my multi-chapter story 'Compromise' but doesn't really have anything to do with the plot - it was just fun to write some good, old-fashioned smut for once! Lyrics at the beginning and in the summary are from the song 'Howl' by Florence & the Machine. :)**_  
><em>


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